High Class
by hiatus-desu
Summary: Only those familiar with fame, such as Zakuro Fujiwara, can describe the damage it can do to one's freedom.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Okay, guys. As well as having Fish Pie as a story in progress, I thought about creating a character that Zakuro feels close to. This is my first time having an OC as one of the main characters - please be honest about what you think. I welcome constructive criticism - even if you're harsh with it, it's useful to me. The last thing I want is a Mary-Sue/Gary-Stu on my hands. 

Pairings (maybe not in this chapter, but in the future) may include casual mention of KeiichiroOC, RetasuOC, IchigoRyou, and a comical mention of a MintZakuro. (Sorry to any Kish/Pai/Tart fans. This is set two years after the last episode; and they do have a planet to clean, after all.)

* * *

The sun rose into the sky like seaweed to the ocean's surface. The pink, cheery exterior of Cafe Mew Mew bathed in the glorious weather as eighteen-year-old Zakuro Fujiwara stood outside the cafe, sweeping the pavement free of dust, litter and the general hustle and bustle of Tokyo city life.

Straightening up and leaning her broom against the wrought-iron archway, she flicked her long dark hair from her face and stared into the sky, feeling the warmth on her cheeks. It was certainly a relief to have the back of her neck now shielded from the seeking sun's rays; she never liked applying sunblock there as her hair would always cling to the surface of her skin. Rubbing the irritated area, Zakuro chewed her bottom lip and reached once more for the broom, vowing to buy herself a wide-brimmed hat for weather like this.

"Onee-sama! Onee-sama!"

Zakuro turned her head half-heartedly, already knowing who the voice belonged to. Sure enough, Mint Aizawa was hurrying along the pavement in her normal attire, clutching (presumably) her uniform dress in a bag. Zakuro stepped back as Mint immediately grabbed hold of the broom, a determined look adorning her face.

"Onee-sama, your delicate skin will burn! Let's get inside, and get that stupid cat-girl to quit messing about and to do her job ..." Mint snatched Zakuro's hand, and tugged her elder co-worker up the cobbled path, straight into the cafe. The broom toppled from Mint's hand and clattered to the linoleum floor as the pair made a dramatic entrance.

"Ichigo! You should know by now that Zakuro-onee-sama shouldn't be made to do sweeping like a common wench! That's one of your tasks, we agreed!" Mint snarled, glaring down at the Mew leader.

Ichigo looked up from scrubbing the floor, mystified for a moment. Retasu turned her head sharply, searching for the commotion, and promptly slipped on the glistening wet surface.  
Deafening clatters of crockery and angry shouts filled the air, as Ichigo's senses came flooding back. She had leapt to her defence and locked horns with Mint while Retasu fretted over the broken cups. Zakuro - fed up with Mint's constant interfering - strode outside to finish her work, her eyes narrowed with annoyance and the bright sunlight streaming mercilessly down onto the city. Dragging the old broom with her; she was about to concentrate on venting her irritation onto the dirt littering the cafe's path with her bristled weapon when she heard a familiar voice.

"Zakuro-san!"

Ryou Shirogane - one of the cafe's co-owners - walked calmly to the supermodel, shuffling a few papers. Zakuro sighed deeply as she leaned against the wrought-iron archway, the cool metal soothing her skin.

"Would you mind doing me a small favour, Zakuro-san?" Ryou asked, raising one eyebrow. "It'll get you away from this atmosphere for a bit." He extended a hand clutching a piece of lined paper, featuring Keiichiro's neat italic handwriting.

"Sure, whatever." Zakuro said nonchalantly, reaching her hand out to take the small sheet. Upon closer inspection she noticed it was a shopping list for specific cake ingredients such as vanilla flavouring and royal icing. "Is it a birthday coming up, Shirogane-san?"

Ryou gave a small chuckle. "No, Zakuro-san ... however, Keiichiro has been entered into a competition, and he needs to practise his new recipe. Please fetch the ingredients for him."

Zakuro gave a curt nod as Ryou handed her the money needed to cover the cost, and strode down the path leading to the city centre. Even though she had glanced in the window with a passing interest as she'd walked on by in the past; she'd never actually stepped through the doors of this specialist cake shop. If she'd desired a sweet treat, one of her assistants would have ordered the hotel chef to whip up something, and wouldn't have dreamed of letting her buy the ingredients and make the cake from scratch.

Zakuro sighed as she stopped at the crossing. _That was one of the disadvantages of being high class, _she thought morosely._ You never did your own dirty work._

She turned left into a small passage leading away from the high-street stores Zakuro was so familiar with. The little street with its small quaint buildings housed cafes, daytime nurseries, stationery shops ... and the cake shop.

Zakuro felt she was no longer in Tokyo, and that she was no longer a model. She was a citizen, a teenager, just like all the other smiling, happy faces she could see. A lot of pressure seemed to melt away, and Zakuro found herself smiling serenely as she stepped into the sweet aroma of baking pastry. Shutting the door behind her, she suddenly seemed very aware of her loud footsteps echoing throughout the shop. Standing in front of the counter, she pushed the shopping list over the smooth table and waited for service.

"Hello ... sorry to keep you waiting, miss."

Zakuro looked up from her shoelaces. "Oh, that's alright. I'm just here to buy what's on the list."

As the young boy smiled at her, Zakuro took in his appearance. His stature was extremely rounded, his chubby clean-shaven face framed with feathery dark hair, and at a guess, Zakuro figured he was slightly shorter than she was. The boy stepped from around the counter and reached up to a nearby shelf of small white boxes of icing, stretching on tiptoes.

"Here," Zakuro interjected, taking the box nearest to her with ease. _This boy was originally shorter than I thought,_ she observed, casting an eye over his frame. _With this dark hair and squinting eyes, he's like a little mole. He probably eats more cakes than he sells too._

The boy laughed, and Zakuro let a sigh of polite mirth escape. He wrapped up the icing, and as he retrieved a bottle of vanilla essence, he seemed to take in her dark purple waitress's dress, complete with the stained apron.

"Do you work at one of the cafes nearby?" he asked conversationally.

"Yes, I do. Cafe Mew Mew." Zakuro replied, with a slight inclination of the head. She took the carrier bag of items and paid the boy with the money Ryou had given her. As he counted out the change, Zakuro tilted her head, trying to work out this boy's age. _He looks a little younger than me too ... maybe Retasu's age?_

The boy made eye contact with her and his jaw dropped. He looked away, then glanced back at Zakuro. A cog seemed to be turning in his mind, and with each slow second Zakuro felt more and more exposed. Finally, he made the connection: "Wow ... you're the model, aren't you? Z-Zakuro Fujiwara-sama?"

Zakuro immediately looked taken aback, and took a dubious step back from the counter, wondering whether to run for it or to try and get herself out of this situation. If Tokyo was made aware that she was employed by Cafe Mew Mew, the place would be overrun by photographers and reporters. Good for business, but not for Zakuro.

As she opened her mouth to try and improvise a lame excuse, the boy apologised. "I'm ... I'm sorry for making you jump like that. You just looked like someone famous, that's all ... w-what's your name, ojou-chan?"

Zakuro relaxed, but was now faced with having to make up a pseudonym - and fast: "I'm ... Kimiko Wakamatsu ... "

"It's nice to meet you, Wakamatsu-san." the boy said warmly. "I'm Hiromu Saionji. Once again, I'm very sorry for startling you like that."

Zakuro nodded, trying to stop the blush of embarrassment from spreading across her cheeks. I can't believe my cover was nearly blown just like that ... never in Tokyo have I been recognised ...but I've been getting careless recently with concealing myself. I should really not be so stupid in the future.

She bid farewell to Hiromu Saionji; and quickly exited the shop.


	2. Chapter 2

Upon arriving back at the cafe, Zakuro paused before taking a detour around the back, straight to the kitchen. Knocking on the blurry heart-shaped window, she didn't think she could stand walking into the tea room and finding a bad atmosphere between Ichigo and Mint. That, and there were a group of pre-adolescent girls from Retasu's school who always sat huddled around a table for half-an-hour after lessons finished, feverishly looking out for a glimpse of the 'Zakuro-lookalike'. Zakuro had quickly cottoned on to their little game, and made a point of disappearing into the kitchen each time they'd hurry in giggling excitedly. 

"Zakuro-san!" Keiichiro greeted, kissing her hand. "Thank you for fetching those ingredients for me, it's very much appreciated ..."

He stepped aside to allow Zakuro into the aroma-filled, busy yet spotlessly clean small kitchen area. Zakuro set the carrier bag down onto a spare counter and smiled, fascinated, as she watched Keiichiro effortlessly remove a chocolate cake from its tin and cut it into segments. "How is Hikari-san and the baby?"

"She's fine, thank you." Keiichiro grinned, handing her a plate of the fresh cake along with a cup of green tea and a small china pot of fudge sauce. "She takes to motherhood very well. I adore being a father too ... my eyes well up every time I say to myself that I'm a daddy to my little angel."

Zakuro smiled politely as she reached to take a chunk of the warm cake - only to have Keiichiro touch her shoulder and wink. "Sorry ... that goes to Table 10, Zakuro-san. I promise I'll save a bit for you after your shift."

Walking into the cafe was indeed as Zakuro anticipated. Mint was glaring at Ichigo over the rim of her teacup, whose cheeks were puffed out in silent rage, rubbing the table so hard with the scrubbing brush Zakuro half-expected the delicate wood to snap in two. The group of girls from Retasu's school were gathered around the notice board; pointing out and discussing a flyer about ice-skating.

Zakuro skirted past them as silently as she could, and placed the order of Table 10 in front of the customer. She rattled off the order barely above a mutter, all the while eyeing the annoying girls with a wolf-like sneer. "Fresh chocolate cake with hot fudge sauce, and green tea ... okay?"

As soon as she heard the woman's stuttered affirmation, she swept away pretending to ignore a pre-pubescent gasp of "There she is!" and hurrying feet. Ducking around the saloon-like doors to the kitchen, she leant against the counter daintily out of the girls' sight, and asked Keiichiro if she could stay to help.

"I'd like you to, Zakuro-san, but I'm currently a little busy with orders. Could you please get Ichigo and Mint to help take some of these orders for me, please? It's a bit inconvienient, having Pudding away ill ... and Retasu's left early tonight."

"How come?" Zakuro asked, loading a tray with biscuits and coffee. She dreaded the prospect of coming face-to-face with those girls again; but she had to admit, she'd better get used to it as she was losing her touch when it came to hiding her real identity. That boy at the cake shop may have taken a while; but even he noticed.

"She's on a date." Keiichiro said lightly, whipping cream expertly in a bowl while watching a mixture bubble in a saucepan. "A boy from her school asked her to accompany him to the library, as he was stuck on his maths homework ... and who said romance was dead?"

"Didn't you and Hikari meet the same way? Didn't she ask you to help her with her catering coursework?" Zakuro commented, raising an eyebrow and a smirk before taking her new order to its customer. The smirk was wiped clean off her face when she read the bill only to find it belonged to the fanatic girls; who were beckoning her, eyes sparkling.

It was seven o' clock. The sky outside was flecked with a peach coloured hue, and Zakuro once more had taken up her position of sweeping the pavement outside. The harsh silhouette of the model stood out as Mint observed her from the window, muttering "This isn't a job for a supermodel like Zakuro-sama ..." and still feeling annoyed towards the flame-haired feline. Ichigo was still in the changing room; getting ready for her 'big date'.

Masaya and Ichigo's relationship had ended mutually, but amiably. They put it down to just having 'differences in what they wanted to do with life' - and it seemed a good enough reason. Masaya was currently travelling in America; still keeping in contact with Ichigo and the Mews by sending postcards. Ichigo, however, was just peachy with staying in Tokyo to complete what was left of her schooling and to continue working at Cafe Mew Mew, although the danger had long gone.

In fact, this was the first time in a year and a half that Ichigo was preparing herself to go on a date - and it was with her boss. This didn't surprise Retasu or Zakuro, who were both aware of Ryou's attraction to Ichigo (much to the heartache of the green Mew) but they bid them good luck for their first outing together. Mint however, had struggled to repress the urge to turn up her nose. She remembered that reaction as she watched Zakuro sweep diligently, sipping the last cup of tea of the day.

Zakuro gazed down at the bare, dirt-free ground, pleased with her work. As she was about to turn back to the cafe, she heard a slightly familiar voice shout "Wakamatsu-san!"

Her eyes widened as she slowly turned to see the chubby shop-keeper from earlier hurry up the road, puffing and panting, his T-shirt damp with sweat. She walked up to him, hoping that he wouldn't collapse. It seemed that he wasn't used to exercise; he leant forward, his hands on his knees as he caught his breath.

"Wakamatsu-san, I charged you the wrong amount for the vanilla essence ... I accidentally charged you double the price ..." he gasped, clutching his chest. Zakuro watched as he reached into his jogging-bottoms pocket and pulled out another small bottle of vanilla essence. "Here we are. I'm sorry for my mess-up ..."

Zakuro emitted a word of thanks before pocketing the tiny glass bottle, mystified. "You ran all the way up here just to give me this bottle? Why didn't you just leave it ... Saionji-san, was it?"

The shop-keeper looked up, wiping his forehead free of sweat. "Yes, I am Saionji, Wakamatsu-san ... and I was just going to leave it. I didn't want to intrude. But the manager came back and spotted my mistake ..."

"Why don't you come in for a drink of water?" Zakuro asked hastily. Saionji did look extremely tired, and looked like he could benefit from a sit-down and an energy boost. Saionji's eyes lit up immediately.

"You mean it, Wakamatsu-san? Free of charge?"

Zakuro nodded, a little bewildered by this boy's enthusiasm. "It's only a drink of water." she said, raising her eyebrow.

With a sigh, she turned on her heel and led Saionji back to the cafe, collecting the broom lying haphazardly from the ground as she passed before Saionji tripped over it. She noticed Mint's expression through the window of wide-eyed wonder, craning her neck to stare at her companion.

"Who's this?" Mint asked increduously, stopping in her tracks. She was in the middle of leaving, and the only worker that remained other than she and Zakuro was Keiichiro, cleaning up in the kitchen.

"A customer." Zakuro said shortly, running a hand through her hair. "Saionji-san, if you sit there, I'll get you a glass of water ..."

Mint shrugged - her attitude immediately changing from puzzled to disinterested - and bid Zakuro, Keiichiro and Saionji farewell before bustling out of the cafe to a large stretch limo. Saionji watched, curiosity aroused, as the young waitress climbed into the sleek vehicle with impeccable dignity, slammed the door and was driven away from the cafe. He was interrupted by Zakuro placing two glasses of water in front of him. Silently, she joined him on the table and sipped from one of the tumblers.

"How long have you been working here, Wakamatsu-san?" Saionji asked, taking a large gulp.

"Around three years now." Zakuro replied, gently moving her glass so the ice clinked against the sides.

"I see, I see," Saionji confirmed, guzzling down another large portion. Zakuro cleared her throat slightly as Saionji wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and took another sip from her own glass pointedly.

"Oh ... I'm sorry. I don't really have any elegancies at the dinner table." Saionji's cheeks blushed a deeper red. Zakuro was about to reply; only to be interrupted by Keiichiro.

"Zakuro-san! I saved you a piece of that cake!"

_Shit!_ Time seemed to slow down tenfold for Zakuro as she watched Saionji's eyes widen and his mouth gape open. _Keiichiro called me Zakuro ... my cover's blown. Damn!_

"You _are_ Zakuro Fujiwara!" Saionji whispered, his eyes the size of dinner plates. "I ... I knew it!"


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Constructive criticism is very welcome. Again, notes on the OC are appreciated. Here is Chapter 3 of 'High Class'. Thank you.

* * *

An age seemed to pass before Keiichiro poked his head around the doorway. He flinched with surprise and embarrassment when he noticed the stunned Saionji. "Um ... I'm very sorry ... I didn't know we had a customer with us."

Zakuro's eye twitched as she turned back to face Saionji. It wasn't often that Zakuro lost her cool; but now she was a little worried for the future. If Saionji let it slip, Cafe Mew Mew would be overloaded by photographers, teenagers and reporters. _The cafe would no longer need electricity thanks to the continuously flashing camera bulbs,_ she thought, gritting her teeth.

She remembered back to when she accompanied the Mews to the beach three years ago. As she'd stood up in her designer black bikini, a crowd of young men had stopped in their tracks and openly gaped, pointing and mumbling. She could hear their frantic whispers that she was _the_ Zakuro Fujiwara, and although she'd let it pass over her head with a dignified manner, she'd felt uncomfortable for the rest of the day.

Her discomfort had soon reached the point where, six months ago, she announced at a film awards' ceremony that she would be taking leave from showbusiness for a while, due to 'personal matters'. There was a series of confused mutters from the audience as she made her escape; slipping behind the stage's curtain as she felt a wonderful new sense of freedom.

Zakuro was immediately brought back to the present time when she saw Saionji's facial expression shift from one of shock to one of ... almost a patronising understanding. She was now the one to blink in a confused manner, vaguely noticing how the ice had completely melted in her cold glass. "What ... what is it?"

"Your secret's safe with me. I won't tell anyone," Saionji said with an air of finality. "I realise you wanted to be left alone ... that's why you told me another name ... your face when I arrived ... I'm sorry for intruding on your personal space, Miss Fujiwara."

Zakuro raised from her chair, her face hardened, irritated at the boy's tone of voice. Saionji's jaw dropped slightly with fear at the sudden reaction.

"This may be my personal space, Saionji-san, but I left showbusiness for my desire to be normal. _This_ is my job. I have been at work here for the past three years. You must realise that I no longer wish to stick with this ... stupid attitude of not wanting to get to know others. Yes, I have been cold in the past and perhaps uncaring ... but three years with my colleagues has taught me a lot more than any of my choreographers or coaches. Do you understand?"

After a minute of silence, she gently lowered herself back into her seat, her eyes still narrowed. Though the words themselves throughout her monologue were not particularly harsh, she had barked them like orders. Keiichiro overheard her short speech in the kitchen and - deciding that he should not verbally interrupt the two teenagers - loaded a tray with two helpings of the cake and a pot of coffee.

"I ... I understand." Saionji muttered. Zakuro felt a slight pang of guilt in her chest as she noticed the young man's voice crack and his eyes well up. He bowed his head and the unfamiliar pang began to feel tighter, almost constricting her chest. Cold and uncaring indeed, she thought. _Though I left in the hope I'd live the simple life and become a normal girl for the first time in God knows how long, I haven't changed a bit._

"S-Saionji-san ..." Zakuro's words were broken off by the small rattling of china and footsteps coming closer. Keiichiro set the tray down in between the two; collecting their empty tumblers that had held their water. Only when Keiichiro disappeared behind the saloon-like doors did Zakuro continue.

"Saionji-san ... you mustn't be too upset at my words. You can't understand the pressures of celebrity life until you are one yourself and are finding yourself constantly at other people's demand. It's an extremely tough life."

At these words, he glanced up. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand with a huge sniff as Zakuro sighed, reaching into her pocket. He took an offered handkerchief and blew his nose.

"It's getting a little dark outside," Zakuro said quietly. "Aren't your parents going to worry?"

Saionji passed back the handkerchief with an apologetic air, only Zakuro motioned for him to keep it. After a small sigh, he corrected: "I'm staying with my grandmother for the holidays. She lives not too far from here."

Zakuro got to her feet. "I'll phone my personal assistant, and she'll drive you home. You do look rather young to walk back by yourself, particularly around the town centre. It can get pretty rough. By the way, you mentioned holidays ... as in school holidays? How old are you?"

"Fifteen." Saionji replied. Zakuro's eyes widened. _Saionji-san sure does look young; but I wouldn't have guessed he was that young._

Saionji noticed her polite surprise and leapt to his defence. "I'll be sixteen in eight months' time."

Zakuro gave a small smile as she retrieved her sleek silver mobile phone from her apron. "She - my personal assistant, that is - will arrive soon after I 'phone her. Not to worry ... she too does know who I am. Just ... I'd like to keep it quiet from the public."

Saionji nodded as Zakuro slipped the phone out of sight once more, and eyed the slices of cake Keiichiro had laid out on a plate. Noticing his attempt at being discreet, Zakuro took one of the plates; and handed it over to him without a word. Seeing the look of surprise the round-faced boy gave her in return, she gave one small nod of the head. Seeing it as a signal, Saionji mumbled "Itadakimasu ..." and broke off a small piece of the cake, blushing. Zakuro took her own plate, muttered the blessing of the food; and started to eat.

Nonchalantly ripping large chunks from the slice with her teeth while gazing out of the window, she glanced over at Saionji from the corner of her eye. He was holding the cake with his fingers; delicately nibbling at it. When he observed Zakuro's relaxed, almost wolf-like way of eating, he too took larger bites.

"Gochisosama ... Fujiwara-ojou-sama, did ... did you help make this cake?" he enquired timidly.

Zakuro shook her head lightly. "No. For that I have to thank Akasaka-san, our chef here. I have to admit ... I've never made a cake by myself in my life."

Saionji appeared thoughtful as he sipped from the cup of coffee, glancing at Zakuro, then at the empty cake plates.

After an hour, a small yet well-kept car soon turned the corner and pulled up in front of the cafe effortlessly. As it halted outside, it sounded two smart beeps from the horn. Zakuro slung her coat over her shoulder, and accompanied by Saionji, stepped out into the cold night. It was half past nine, and night had set in surprisingly early.

The two bid farewell to Ryou - who after breezing in, not expecting to see anybody jumped a mile when he noticed that Zakuro; let alone a customer, had stayed two and a half hours after closing time. Zakuro tried her best to explain the circumstances, and Saionji introduced himself to the bemused blonde-haired teenager. Ryou politely smiled and bowed in return, but muttered something inaudible to both Zakuro and Saionji when he turned to head upstairs to bed.

As Keiichiro had left via the kitchen exit, Zakuro locked the cafe. Saionji shivered slightly at the sudden change in temperature as a gust of wind ran its cool fingers through his hair. Zakuro wriggled the key until she heard the smooth metal lock click into place, and dropped the key through the letterbox. Taking Saionji's shoulder, she guided him to the small car.

Warm air was gently heating the snug interior of the vehicle as Saionji scooted to the far seat. The personal assistant - a blonde woman in her twenties - greeted them both in a friendly manner, like old friends.

"Whereabouts is your home, Saionji?" the woman asked, holding her satellie-navigation device in her hand, ready to key in the area. After Saionji rattled off his address (which wasn't all too far away) the car smoothly streaked off into the night, its silent rumble relaxing Zakuro; who leant back into her chair, fingers gripping the fabric of her coat.

Around five minutes of silent travel later, the car arrived in a small side-street composed of terraced houses and small independent shops. Zakuro noticed a bakery, a newsagent store and a fishmonger's business as the car cruised past, swerving near to the pavement expertly in front of Saionji's home.

As the boy fumbled with his seatbeat, he politely thanked the woman for driving him home - then turned to Zakuro.

"May I see you again soon ... Wakamatsu-san?" He gave a nervous smile at the new use of her pseudonym, and waited for her reaction. A small, mature chuckle came from the silhouetted profile, and a voice from the darkness said, not unkindly:

"Yes. I believe we'll meet again."


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Sorry for the wait. I've recently had a lot on my hands. Here are a few notes regarding changes. 

SUMMARY EDIT: This was to add the 'slice of life' genre. There won't be dramatic battle scenes with a giant beetle - this is focussing on the Mews' - and particularly, Zakuro's - normal life. I appreciate that this genre can seem a bit boring to people, particularly in multi-chapter stories, but I'm a great fan of this genre so I thought I'd slip this warning in.

* * *

After bidding farewell to Zakuro, Saionji stepped onto the mosaic-like garden path leading to his grandmother's home. Entering the house, he called out "I'm back!" and proceeded to untie his shoelaces.

"Hiromu-chan! You're quite late back," came a woman's concerned reply, "was everything alright at work?"

Saionji shut the shoe-closet with a 'clang' and joined his grandmother in the warm sitting room, where she had a questioning look illuminated by the glow of the television set. He smiled reassuringly at her and bent over awkwardly to take an empty teacup from the ornate coffee table. She pressed again with her enquiry. "Hiromu, I asked if everything was okay. I saw you with a girl, long purple hair and ever so tall; outside the Cafe Mew Mew."

Saionji stood up straight. "Ah, yes, yes. That's one of the customers, she forgot an ingredient and I had to chase after her." The teacup hung by its handle from his chubby finger, and the icy dregs dripped onto his feet. The cold china and damp tea-leaves soaking his socks reminded him of the icy touch of Cafe Mew Mew's tumbler, sitting opposite a celebrity. A celebrity who had come out to him in an emotional outburst. But ... what could be so bad about money, good food, a quality place to stay and attention of all the girls?

"I see," said the old woman, rising to her feet and bringing Saionji out of his trance. "Well, that matter is now sorted. Help me with dinner, Hiromu, then afterwards I have something quite important to tell you."

-

Zakuro arrived at her hotel room at the same moment Saionji and his grandmother sat at the dinner table. She casually pictured what his home was like as she reached for the pre-packaged salad lying in the refrigerator, images - of a mother with robust arms and large breasts cuddling her teenaged son, a grandmother with a bright apron and healthy, rosy cheeks watching her grandchildren eat home-cooked food proudly - dancing around her head. She didn't know whether she really would see him again, or even if the boy would remember.

Emptying the last of the coleslaw over the salad, she threw the tub into the bin along with any thoughts of Saionji. She fell asleep early that night sitting upright in bed, a light novel slipping from her hands onto the floor and her head resting against the wall.

-

"Hey, Saionji-kun."

Saionji looked up blearily from his summer-school Classical Japanese textbooks. His desk was littered with ruled paper bearing his small, scrunched handwriting. After having received a telling-off from a disgruntled teacher for forgetting homework, he was now sitting in completing it. "Oh, good morning ..."

The classmate took a seat next to him. "Do you have plans tonight? We're going to go and see a movie then go off to that cafe Himitsu keeps raving about."

Saionji was about to agree, when he realised with a groan that once again, he was due to work straight after this catch-up school session. And there was that issue his grandmother and he discussed the night before. "Sorry, I can't come along. Workin'."

The classmate let out a crude laugh. "Your loss, Saionji-kun, though any guy with a beating pulse would call in sick if they had a chance to see that purple-haired waitress at this Cafe Mew Mew. She has legs up to _here_."

Saionji's senses by now had awakened fully, and bit his tongue before replying. _Zakuro-sama. Oh my God, I can't say a word that might make them suspect her. I can't go against my word, I promised to keep her whereabouts to myself_.

A girl dashed excitedly into the room, a group of clones giggling in her wake. "Hey, Honda! Is Saionji-san coming or what?"

"No," said Honda with a disappointed expression, "he's working at that cake shop again."

The leader of the girlish gang groaned dramatically. "Saionji-san, are you turning into a workaholic?"

Saionji once more looked up from his textbooks, starting to feel annoyance bubbling in the pit of his stomach. "I'm short on money, and besides, celebrities aren't my type. I'll come some other time, okay?"

"Not your type ...?"

"Honda, Kotobuki, Matsuda, Otsuka!" came a loud roar from the doorway of the classroom. The Classical Japanese teacher stood like an enraged bull, eyes narrowed at Saionji's classmates. "OUT!"

The boy and the three girls crept from the room, shoulders hunched. Saionji quickly returned to his work, a blush creeping across his cheeks. The teacher crossed the room with angry footsteps, slamming a register onto the desk with venom. Saionji began to write faster, each written word one step closer to escaping.

-

Zakuro strode into the cafe, her knee-length coat flecked with spots of rain. Stepping gracefully past a whispering Ryou and Ichigo, she interrupted quietly with "What's my first task for today?"

"Good afternoon, Zakuro-san!" Ichigo said brightly, turning away from their employer. Zakuro gave a nod in return as her gaze returned to the top of Ryou's head.

"Ah, Zakuro," Ryou said cheerfully, "you can put on the ovens for pre-heating, and start to mix up some pre-made cake batter. Keiichiro is a little held-up."

An inclination of the head and a brief journey to the dressing room later, Zakuro entered the kitchen while tying her apron securely around her waist. She deftly tied up her long hair, but eyed the packet worriedly. All you needed was water and vanilla essence ... _how hard can this be_?

She reached up to a high shelf for the little glass bottle. It was when she had it in her hand and double-checked its label that Hiromu Saionji floated into her mind again. Zakuro wondered if he did truly understand what she had meant as she shook a few drops into the foil packet of dust-like powder. With a sigh, she returned the bottle to its high shelf with a 'clink'. She flinched as she heard the kitchen entrance open, and turned to face Keiichiro.

"Hello, Zakuro ... did I make you jump?"

"A little," Zakuro acknowledged, turning back to the dry batter.

"Sorry," he laughed. "I always prefer this entrance to the main doors."

"Me too," Zakuro agreed, her teeth gritted. _Stupid, stupid girls. They're like ten year olds in high-school uniform._

Keiichiro stepped across the kitchen and pulled his chef's overalls on over his shirt. "I see Ryou told you to mix the pre-made stuff? I usually buy it for busy days when I don't have a lot of time, you see, and we're expecting quite a few people from the summer-school sessions nearby."

"Oh, I see," Zakuro answered, running cold water directly from the tap into a jug. She collected a mixing bowl, and emptied both powder and water into it a little uncertainly. Keiichiro gallantly took the bowl from her.

"I'll deal with the cakes now, Zakuro. See if you can get the chairs down from the tables."

Zakuro silently cursed herself as she strode into the main cafe. It would make a great deal of sense if I'd learnt basic cooking after three years of working here ... but I've never had to, wherever else I've stayed ...

As she retrieved the chairs from the tables and set up the cafe for business, the doors opened with a rush of rain. Retasu Midorikawa stepped in, muddy footprints clouding the bright floor. "Good afternoon, everyone. It's not very nice out there today ..."

"We know." Zakuro said shortly as Retasu eased her feet out of Wellington boots and scampered in stocking-clad feet across the cafe floor to the door leading into the corridor. Ryou eyed the muddy footprints disapprovingly as Ichigo fetched a mop and bucket. She placed the large bucket on the floor, and Retasu skidded on the tiles as she turned in the direction of the resulting 'clang'.

The ringing of the telephone broke the silence. Zakuro leaned against the wall, briefly observing Retasu topple over and wail with embarrassment as she sighed a response. "Hello?"

"Zakuro-onee-chan! Good afternoon!"

"Good afternoon, Purin," said Zakuro, trying to keep her voice friendly. "How are you feeling?"

"Purin is feeling slightly better, na no da, but Heicha-chan has the chicken-pox." the young girl replied. Zakuro could hear other children chattering behind Purin's voice, and the rattle of cutlery on plates. "We're eating dinner at the moment, na no da, so it's only a quick call."

"Okay, Purin," Zakuro replied, fiddling with the telephone cable. She could see Retasu crawl across the floor to scrub the mud from the linoleum out of the corner of her eye, and Ryou supervising her. "When will you next be coming in?"

"In about a week's time, na no da. Thank you, Zakuro-onee-chan!"

As Purin returned to her siblings, Zakuro placed the garish pink receiver back onto the holder and strode over to the diligently cleaning Retasu and Ryou, who was dislodging sleep from his eyelids. Kneeling down, she took the scrubbing brush from Retasu's hand. "I'll finish this," Zakuro stated, "you just go and get dressed."

"Z-Zakuro-san ..." Retasu stuttered, leaning back.

"Go on." Zakuro said a little more firmly. "You're not wearing any shoes or your uniform, go and smarten yourself up, and then come back."

Retasu shot a dubious glance at Ryou, whose eyes gazed at the patch Retasu had been cleaning. Most of the mud had been successfully scrubbed from the shining tiles. "Go on, then." he agreed, watching Retasu scramble to the changing room.

When the door to the corridor had been shut, Ryou let out a small chuckle as he made a large step towards the kitchen. However, Retasu hadn't dried the patch she had cleaned, causing Ryou to slip on the damp surface and lose his footing. Ichigo suppressed her laughter as she ducked past Zakuro and resumed assembling the chairs.

-

Two hours went by, and the atmosphere of Cafe Mew Mew lightened considerably as customers came in out of the rain. Zakuro boiled the kettles to make endless pots of tea for young mothers, Ichigo arranged cakes on small tea-trays to display on the counter, and even Minto had to cut her afternoon-tea time short. Retasu - with a new graze visible on her knee - helped Keiichiro mix cake batter and measure icing. Ryou helped with the waiting duties; and called through to the kitchen five minutes after the door-bell announced a new customer's arrival, like a fanfare.

"Five pots of tea, and eight helpings of cherry crumble!"

Zakuro twitched and peered around the corner of the saloon door. _Those girls again. Only now they've brought boys with them. I'm going to have to start being very careful_.

Ryou trundled through the kitchen, holding a small silver tea-trolley. "Zakuro-san! You're nearly done with that tea. Please take this large order through for us."

Zakuro wearily arranged the eight small plates of cake on top of the trolley, idly wondering how much Ryou and Keiichiro would save if they didn't buy doilies for each individual serving of dessert. Wheeling the delicate trolley out, she paused in front of the large group of youths and tried to avoid their eyes as she placed the teapots in the middle of the table.

"Wow! You were right, Himitsu, she _does_ look like Zakuro-sama!"

Zakuro took a deep breath to delay the telltale blush on her cheeks. It had been a mere whisper from one boy to his girlfriend; but Zakuro had always had sharp hearing even before her wolf-DNA injection. Now that she'd vowed to take a break from showbusiness for a while; she had suddenly become more paranoid about being discovered. Upholding her dignity, she started placing the slices of crumble in front of each individual.

"Hey ... miss."

"Yes?" came the haughty answer. The tall waitress met the eyes of the boy who had spoken, and judging by his smirk, it looked as if she'd get the 'Kisshu treatment' that the alien had administered to Ichigo so many times.

"That ladder in your stocking ... is that the stairway to-"

The voice was abruptly silenced. Zakuro had slammed down the remaining plate of crumble, and the icing-sugar dust flew across the table. "After you have finished, please call a waitress over to hand you your bill." she said, her voice dripping with venom.

Pushing the trolley back, she left the giggling teenagers and swept away. She felt a large pang of annoyance at their reaction. Usually, Zakuro's cold stare would silence grown men, but these teenagers were ... stupidly immune. Damn them.

She felt the burning eyes sear into her back, but continued walking briskly until she was in the safety of the kitchen.

"Zakuro-san. _Zakuro-san_."

Zakuro looked up moodily, biting her lip. Keiichiro probed further, calmly meeting her dark blue eyes.

"Zakuro-san, I think you need a break."

The girl didn't answer, or hesitate. She didn't halt when she heard Minto call after her, or Ryou grunt questioningly as she opened the kitchen exit, and hurried out into the rain.

She didn't really know where she was heading, but she let her feet take her to the crossing, stepping out in front of the waiting cars. She kept walking, past the different high-street shops, turning down a small alleyway. She instinctively reached out for an old door handle, and strode in. The bell tinkled innocently, as the door swung shut behind her.

The slightly sweet smell. The warm interior. That familiar face peering around the corner as Zakuro realised exactly where she was.

"Wakamatsu-san?"


End file.
